Mysteries Behind a Mask
by scottedog43
Summary: Laura Tantrise is an American actress that gets herself stuck in London, England after being accused of murder. Can the famous consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, solve her case or will it be more than he bargained for? Possible OCxSherlock.
1. 1 - The Case

**Before you begin reading this chapter, I just want to let you all know that this chapter is sort of an experiment for me. I made this oc a while ago and thought she'd fit well in the Sherlock universe. If you guys think I should keep writing this story, favorite it, leave a comment, or try communicating with me telepathically. It may or may not turn into an oc x Sherlock story… we'll see how this all turns out. Thanks for reading!**

"Alright, let's hear it," Sherlock said calmly, his eyes scanning the woman sitting before him.

"Well, first I should tell you a little bit about myself or this case won't make any sense," she said, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

"I highly doubt that," Sherlock scoffed.

The woman's eyes flitted towards the tall man before they shot to the window as if she were a confused bird trapped indoors, searching for a way out.

"Please, continue miss," John said kindly.

She sent him a thankful look before her eyes fell towards her lap. With a deep breath, she began her story. "I was always a social butterfly when I was little. I made friends so easily. All through elementary school I was friends with everyone," a small smile graced the woman's face as she recalled the memory.

"Excuse me, but what does this have to do with the case?" Sherlock asked in irritation.

He was mildly surprised as the nervous woman ignored him and went on.

"Around middle school, things started to go wrong. I lost old friends, gained new ones, then by the time I reached high school, I was alone again. I was left with nobody. I stopped speaking, stopped making an effort to communicate with anyone. I had terrible social anxiety that seemed to ruin my mental health."

"All irrelevant," Sherlock huffed, "I do have other clients."

"No you don't," John scolded.

Sherlock shot his friend a look before turning back to the woman. "Are you quite finished?"

"Almost," she sniffled. "I left my home town and went to a large college where I wouldn't be noticed, where I could become another face in the crowd instead of Laura Tantrise. Surprisingly I took up acting at that college. I learned how to be other people instead of myself. I found that when I was acting I could be somebody else entirely. So, I stopped being myself and acted every day of my life. After graduating I took up two jobs. One was acting in big name theatre productions, the other was..." she paused for a moment in thought, searching for a name that described the other career.

"I guess you could call me a professional liar, or perhaps a magnificent impersonator," she grinned, her nervous demeanor vanishing completely.

"Not a real job," Sherlock interrupted, unfazed by the woman's change in attitude.

"Not really no, I invented it, sort of like your job as a consulting detective."

"How do I know you're telling the truth, Miss Professional Liar?" he challenged.

"Well I would hope you'd know whether or not I was lying Mr. Holmes, you're observations are supposed to be quite excellent."

Her statement seemed to pacify Holmes for the time being and he nodded for her to continue.

"Every now and again somebody would hear about my peculiar job and ask me to perform a task. These tasks ranged from "pretend to be my date at this dance" to "slip into this place unnoticed, do something, and get out". Now, this finally brings us to the case I need your help with. I came here to do a simple job for a wealthy Englishman. The job was easy, yes, but... how I got the job was curious to say the least. I received a mysterious phone call from out of the country as soon as I returned to my apartment after the last night of my show. The man who called me told me the task; get into some guys house while he was there, get some information from him, have a few drinks, then leave a purse at the house when I left. I thought it sounded simple enough, and I was used to weird calls like this, but I never had to leave the country to do a job. The man on the phone informed me that a ticket and some money would arrive at my house the next day and I would leave for the airport in the car that delivered these things to me. I did as I was told, flew here to London where I thought I'd meet my employer, or at least one of his employees, but all I got were more phone calls and rides from silent men from place to place. At this point I regretted taking the job and tried to back out, but they kept reassuring me through their phone calls that the job was simple and the next day I could fly back home with more tickets they'd provide," the woman paused and took a deep breath. She was very good at appearing calm, but Sherlock noticed that her shoulders had grown tense as she continued to explain.

"I was so stupid, I should've dropped out anyway, but when I noticed that every stoic driver was carrying a loaded pistol I just kept quiet about my doubts. So I did the job, and I expect tomorrow you'll hear about it. The men that hired me framed me for a murder they had committed."

"How do you know about it?" Sherlock inquired.

"When the car didn't arrive with the plane ticket and my pay this morning, I figured something was up. All the calls I had received were from blocked numbers so I couldn't contact my employer to ask any questions. Getting desperate, I tried calling the man I had visited the day before. He didn't answer so I stopped by his house only to find the door unlocked and the man dead."

"And you would like me to find the real murderer and prove your innocence," Sherlock stated.

Laura nodded, her focus drawn to a small thread hanging off of her sweater sleeve.

The room was quiet for a moment, Sherlock no doubt thinking about whether or not this case was worth taking while John just stared at the beautiful woman before him with mild surprise. He glanced at Sherlock and realized he wouldn't be speaking any time soon so he decided to take a shot at getting to know this woman.

"I'm just curious, but why did you include your _life story_ in your description of the case?" he joked.

A shadow of a grin played at her lips, "I figured that would provide me with fewer questions to answer." She paused for a moment before continuing, "Aaaand it made my role as the _desperate client_ more realistic."

"You were pretending to be nervous?" he asked.

"Of course. I try not to let anyone see what I'm really like," she shrugged.

"Is this what you're really like?" John asked.

"What do you think?" Laura grinned.

John just shrugged, his gaze falling back on Sherlock. The curly haired man still didn't seem like he would speak, so John asked another question that was nagging at him.

"You said that you're from out of the country but... you don't speak differently than any other person here in London."

"That, Mr. Watson, also comes from years of acting, or magnificent impersonation," she said with a proud smile on her face, an American accent breaking through her British façade.

"Please, call me John," he said.

She smiled, "I'm Laura."

"I'll take the case," Sherlock said suddenly, preventing John from saying anything else.

Laura sighed with relief, "Thank you Mr. Holmes."

**Hm. Not exactly an exciting chapter… or an incredibly long one. But! I've got some ideas for future chapters that will be more action packed and thrilling! (If you guys think I should continue. .u.)**


	2. 2 - It Begins

** I didn't get a whole lot of feedback, but for those of you who commented and favorited/followed my story, thanks! As long as I have 1 or 2 people out there that enjoy my story, I shall continue to write it for you. c: Here's the second chapter. Nothing too exciting yet. Let me know what you think! I don't have a beta reader or anything so there may be some errors, but I hope it's not too bad. **

"Now, Ms. Tantrise, tell me everything you know about your employer," Sherlock said, leaning forward as if to soak the information from the woman.

"I can't tell you much, I thought I made it quite clear that I never even talked to the man," Laura pointed out.

"Yes, but tell me what you've deducted from your situation," he said, eyes not leaving the woman before him.

She sighed, "Well, obviously he is wealthy. He had a lot of black Porsche's to transport me around," she paused for a moment in thought. "They were all Panamera's if I remember correctly. I could be wrong though, I don't know much about cars. I guess I'll let you be the judge on what kind of vehicle it was."

The men gave her a curious look and she simply took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

He glanced at it, before looking back up at Laura. "A license plate number."

She nodded, "Of one of the cars I had taken. They were all identical with similar drivers, but I noticed their license plate numbers were different. I wrote down one of them when I was sure the driver wasn't paying attention to me."

Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, "I guess you aren't as stupid as I thought you were."

Laura raised an eyebrow at the man, puzzled by his blatant remark about her stupidity.

"That's a compliment, believe or not," John told her.

"Huh," was all Laura could manage to say on the subject.

"Now tell me about the dead man," Sherlock said.

"The man I visited for the job was named Michael Follett. He was an expert salesman that mainly sold air planes which earned him quite a fortune. He was single, but obviously entertained women quite often. I'd guess that not all of his sales were legal…" she trailed off, trying to think of anything else that could prove useful.

Then, without a word, Sherlock stood and walked towards the door. He grabbed his jacket and threw it on quickly, turning to John and Laura as he tied his scarf around his neck.

"Take me to Michael Follett's house," he said plainly.

"Oh, of course. I'll just walk into the home of the man I supposedly killed, where there will no doubt be several police men waiting for me with guns at the ready," her voice was thick with sarcasm. "Also, I'm not from London; I'll just get us lost."

Sherlock frowned like a child told he wasn't allowed to go outside and play. "That isn't a no," he stated stubbornly.

"You're right, that isn't a no, but it will be if you don't give me some assurance that I won't get arrested the moment I show up at that house."

"I'll prove your innocence before inspector Lestrade can even reach for his handcuffs."

Laura smiled, "Alright then." She stood from her seat, readjusting her jacket and placing her hat on her head. "You're lucky I remember the name of the street. Once we're there I'll be able to find his house easily."

"Wonderful," Sherlock said, already walking out the door. Laura trailed after him, followed by John who had to stop briefly to grab his own jacket. Shortly after leaving the building Sherlock hailed a cab and the trio climbed in, Laura stuck in between the consulting detective and his companion. She told the driver the name of the road they were heading to before settling into her seat between the two men. Once they set off, she closed her eyes calmly, losing herself to assess her thoughts.

Ever since she saw the dead man her mind had been buzzing with awful visions of what was going to happen to her if she was blamed for the murder. She had been terrified, but suddenly she felt calm. She didn't really understand why. There was no guarantee that Sherlock could prove her innocence. There was something about him though, something that said he'd solve the case no matter what. Not because he cared for her well-being, but because a mystery was something that piqued his interest. Similar to her interest in being different people. It was a thrill. The only thing that seemed to give her mind something to do.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the cab coming to a halt. Laura opened her eyes quickly, her gaze falling on the consulting detective. To her surprise, she found that he had been watching her.

"Have you been doing that long?" she asked him.

"Not at all, just for the majority of our ride here," he said mater-of-factly.

"Some people would consider that a long time," Laura replied, quirking a brow.

"Those people don't know the meaning of the word 'long'," he added. "You know, you really are quite good at hiding your emotions. There wasn't a single sign of surprise on your face when I told you I'd been watching you."

Laura climbed calmly out of John's side of the cab, since Sherlock didn't seem to be moving. "How do you know that would've surprised me?"

"Normal people are surprised by the smallest things. A strangers eyes lingering on them for more than a few seconds for example. It is either considered rude or unsettling and that would mean it isn't "normal". When things are not normal, they tend to surprise average people."

Sherlock climbed out of the car to join Laura and John.

"Yes, I will admit that I was surprised, but I do the same thing. I didn't find it all that creepy," Laura shrugged.

"You stare at people like that too?" John gawked. "Why?"

"Observation! You can't perfectly impersonate people until you know every quirk, twitch, and facial expression of every person and what they mean. And occasionally, it's fun just to creep people out," Laura smiled.

"Unbelievable," John shook his head.

"Hold on a minute!" an irritated voice called to them. "Who called you in, Freak?"

"This young woman here, actually. She wanted to know what happened to her neighbor. Apparently when she asked around here she was treated very poorly, isn't that right Miss Farron?"

"Oh yes! I can't believe how I've been treated! I thought you blokes from Scotland Yard were supposed take care of people, but noooo! Luckily, I'm good friends with John. He told me to talk to Sherlock about this mystery going on next door, so I did," Laura said.

"That doesn't mean she is allowed at the crime scene," the woman said, completely ignoring Laura.

"That man over there isn't allowed here either, but he's certainly lingering close to my neighbors' house," Laura frowned.

The woman turned to see who Laura was indicating and, sure enough, a man that wasn't supposed to be at the crime scene was trying to peek in the windows of the house.

"Stay right here," she growled, "I'll be right back."

"Of course ma'am," Laura smiled.

As soon as the woman was gone Laura's smile disappeared, "Who was that bitch?"

"Sgt. Sally Donovan," John chuckled.

"I thought she'd never leave," Laura sighed.

"Come along now," Sherlock called, already entering the building.

Laura and John trailed after him.

When they entered the building they found themselves in an elegant entryway with a large staircase to the left. Just before the staircase was an open archway that led into the room where the body was. The trio entered the room without a problem, but when they were spotted, another cranky person came stomping up to them.

"Is this girl authorized to be in here?" the man asked.

"Well Sgt. Donovan let me in without any protests," Laura eyed the man carefully. "Don't you trust your girlfriend's judgment?"

"She's not-"

"Oh, I get it! An affair! How scandalous," she grinned.

Watson snickered and even Sherlock couldn't help but let a small smile break his business-like demeanor.

"How did you-"

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" another man approached the group.

"I was hired by Miss Tantrise," he replied simply.

Lestrade's gaze fell on said woman, and his brows furrowed. "You look familiar."

Laura stared back calmly, a smile on her face, "Do I? How curious, I'm not from around here. Have you ever visited-" she paused when she realized the man was paying her no attention. Instead, he was searching through his pocket.

Sherlock noted that Laura took an unconscious step away from the inspector. Then his eyes returned to Lestrade as he pulled a bag from his pocket containing what appeared to be a drivers license.

"I knew you looked familiar," the inspectors' eyes flitted between the girl and the id. "You're Laura Tantrise. You killed Michael Follet."

Laura took another unconscious step backwards. She didn't realize she was doing it until she bumped into someone.

"She's innocent, don't even bother trying to arrest her," Sherlock said lazily from behind Laura.

"Innocent? Look around you Sherlock! She's left behind enough evidence to prove her guilt. She might as well have written a letter that said 'I killed Michael Follet, love Laura Tantrise.'" Lestrade's voice rose slightly, his hands reaching towards his handcuffs. He paused when Sherlock continued to speak.

"Laura, give me your drivers license," the consulting detective said.

The woman did as she was told, reaching her hand into her pocket and pulling out a small billfold. She flicked it open and pulled out the rectangular piece of plastic, setting it into Sherlock's outstretched palm.

Then Sherlock walked past her and to Lestrade. He took the bag holding the id the inspector had recovered and took it out, ignoring the man's protests. A quick look at the licenses told Sherlock what he needed to know and he thrust them towards Lestrade.

"The one you had was an obvious fake. Did you really think American's had such simple licenses?" Sherlock sent the man a condescending look.

"Well I," the inspector sent Laura a quick apologetic glance, "I've never seen an American license before. I didn't know."

"You didn't think," Sherlock corrected.

Lestrade sighed, "I guess we've got some talking to do."

"Not us, you and Laura. Meanwhile, I'll be having a quick look around," Sherlock waved the inspector off.

The inspector's gaze fell on Laura and she sighed. "Thanks Sherlock," she thought to herself.

**One last quick note! I'm debating making this a Sherlock x OC story. Leave me a quick comment or message me what you think. Thanks for reading!**


	3. 3 - Setting the Stage

**Sorry for the lack of updates. It's hard writing a Sherlock story… he's so difficult to keep in character. I'll do my best to post more often. Special thanks to Foxchick for getting me to continue this story!**

Laura walked calmly out of Michael Follet's house, followed closely by a certain doctor.

"How was your talk with Lestrade?" John asked, catching up to walk alongside her.

"Similar to the one I had with you and Sherlock, only more taxing and less intellectual," she shrugged. "He asked a lot of questions that didn't even need to be asked."

"You make it sound like it went terribly," John pointed out, "You don't seem bothered though."

A grin pulled at the corners of Laura's lips, "Acting, John. I'm always acting. Life is my stage, the world is my audience, and every eye that falls on me is a spotlight."

The doctor frowned, his eyes scanning the woman's face for a slip in her act. "Doesn't all this acting get tiring?"

"Not at all," Laura smiled.

"Well, at some point I'd like to meet the real Laura," John sighed in defeat.

The smile on Laura's face never wavered, but her eyes left John and stared off into space, "I don't know if there even is a real Laura anymore."

John sent her an odd look, but she continued walking towards the security tape that surrounded the crime scene, ignoring his gaze. Trying to forget the pitying look on John's face, she allowed her eyes to perform their usual routine of reading people nearby as she walked steadily away the crime scene. A neighbor of Michael's that had feelings for him wept softly on her front steps, a curious jogger broke his daily running routine to ask about the security tape, Donovan explained what she could about the scene to the man. All boring, regular reactions to a crime scene.

Feeling rather mischievous, Laura made a b-line for the sergeant to show that she had passed her and made it into the crime scene. Her strategy to piss off the woman was subtle; she simply walked past Sally, ducked under the tape, and continued on her way. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that she had successfully pissed the woman off, but it also revealed that John was still following her.

Laura slowed her pace, allowing the doctor to catch up with her. "Don't you think you should get back to Sherlock? I can get around without a bodyguard," she teased.

"Oh, uh, right. I just thought since you weren't from around here you'd need help. I could show you a great place for dinner before I head back, do you want to stop for a bite?"

"John, Sherlock needs his partner. I'll be fine," she smiled, "If either of you need me for anything give me a call. You'll probably need my number for that… hold on." Quickly she fumbled around in her pocket, procuring a small notepad and a pen. As she flipped to a blank page, John noted that tiny pictures and words were crammed on to several pages. She wrote down her number and her hotel address neatly before tearing the sheet of paper from her notepad.

"Also, if you find anything out about my case, give me a call would you? I know Sherlock won't."

"Sure," John said.

"Thanks," Laura smiled, and with that she waved down a nearby taxi. Once it came to a halt, she climbed into the yellow vehicle. After a quick wave, she was off.

John watched the taxi drive away and cursed himself under his breath. Laura had turned him down for dinner. Did that mean she didn't like him? Or did she really just think Sherlock needed his help? She obviously didn't know much about Sherlock if she thought the later. Nevertheless, he got her number, even if it was just for business. Maybe he'd give her a call and invite her out for lunch to discuss the case proceedings.

"If that goes well, maybe we could go out on an actual date," John thought to himself, a grin pulling at his lips.

With that final thought, he returned back to the house of Michael Follet. He had just walked through the front doors to the house when he ran into his flat mate.

"Oh, there you are John. I was about to leave without you. Where's my client?" Sherlock asked, gliding past John and out of the house.

"I just saw her off," John sped up to catch up with the consulting detective. "She gave me her hotel address and her number if we need her."

"That was unwise of her," Sherlock paused in his stride. "Let me see that address."

John held out the piece of paper Laura had given him, eyeing the neat handwriting before Sherlock snatched it away from him.

"Is this the hotel she's been staying at this whole time?" the consulting detective frowned.

"She didn't say," John's brow furrowed, "Why?"

"Whoever committed this crime wants her either locked away, or dead. If this is the hotel she's been staying at for the time she's been here, then they know exactly where to find her."

"But, why does this person want her dead?" John paled.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Sherlock spoke as if talking to a child. Without hesitation, he hailed a cab and climbed in, John following closely behind. Once they told the cabbie their destination, Laura's hotel, they sped off.

As they drove through the city, John tried, time and time again, to call Laura. Every call went unanswered and John found that there was nothing he could do. Defeated, he stared hopelessly out the cab window at the setting sun. It was quickly disappearing behind the horizon and soon it would leave the world vulnerable to darkness. Darkness brought with it shady alleys, closed buildings, and less people on the streets, setting a perfect scene for a murder. With the last sliver of the sun hidden beyond the horizon, the sky began to change from a serene orange to a gloomy shade of purple.

John let out a heavy sigh, pulling his phone back out of his pocket. He dialed Laura's number again, placing the phone back to his ear. "I hope we're not too late."


	4. 4 - Thanks

**Another chapter, look at me go! I hope it makes up for the lack of updates… I'll try and get another posted next week. **

Laura swung open the door to her hotel room, a tired frown on her face. It had been a long, stressful day and she wasn't used to the time change between New York and London. Once the door clicked shut behind her, she walked towards the large king bed that sat in the center of the room, its headboard standing tall against the plain white walls. Upon reaching the bed, Laura face planted into the feathered comforter.

"It's so nice to be back in this wonderful bed," her voice was muffled by her sheets.

Once breathing in the sheets became difficult, Laura rolled onto her back. She lifted her feet into the air and pulled off her shoes, tossing them idly across the room. Then she sat up and shed her jacket and sweater, leaving her in a plain black tank top and skinny jeans. She shivered slightly at the sudden loss of warmth and reached for the television remote. Once her fingers got a hold of the plastic device, she turned the TV on and buried herself beneath the plush hotel blankets. She let out a content sigh and began to idly watch the show that was currently on. Until, of course, her phone rang. Laura groaned, lazily reaching for the irritating device. After a quick glance at the number, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Laura! Thank God, you're alright," John sighed with relief.

"John? What are you talking about?" Laura kept her voice calm, but she was rubbing her temples in irritation.

"First off, are you staying-" his voice was cut off and Laura heard him say something in the background before Sherlock's smooth voice met her ear.

"Whoever hired you wants you gone or dead. Get out of your hotel."

Laura blinked, not saying a word. Grudgingly, she crept out of bed and to her hotel window and sure enough, she found a familiar black Porsche. "I'm going to have to call you back."

She hung up the phone, shoving it into her jeans pocket. Then she rushed to her door and stuck her head out to check for the familiar stoic, pistol carrying Porsche driver. Sure enough, she saw one walking casually down the hall. When he spotted her, he drew his gun and doubled his pace.

"Oooh no," Laura slammed the door, her eyes searching her room for a way out or something to defend herself with.

"Lamp? Hair dryer?" her mind went through all the objects a normal hotel room carried. "Useless." Without even thinking, she threw her window open. A cool breeze met her as she took in the distance to the ground. Her room was on the third floor of the building, but there was a ledge that looked large enough to support her. It was far too small for her large pursuer, so when she heard him smashing through her door, out she went.

Her stomach churned as she took in the height she was at, but she continued to shuffle away from her window, her back to the wall. She turned her head slightly to check for another open window and, lucky for her, there was one only 2 windows away. She held her breath, increasing her shuffling as much as she could. One window was passed, she just had one more to go. Then a shot rang through the air. Laura turned back to her window and saw her pursuer, hanging out the window with his gun pointed at her.

"Must not be a good shot," she thought.

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't the one who had fired a gun. Her gaze was soon drawn to the street below where she saw another man, dressed similarly to the man that was after her. Another figure stood over him, but he was difficult to make out in the increasing darkness. It seemed that this second man had been the shooter. Thankfully, that shot had distracted her pursuer, but only for a moment. His eyes were again trained on her, his arm steady, breath even, finger on the trigger. Laura was frozen, fear shattering her usual façade. When a second shot rang through the air, Laura closed her eyes, expecting to feel at least some amount of pain before she died, but she felt nothing. The sound of fist breaking bone urged Laura to open her eyes, and to her surprise, her pursuer was gone. Cautiously, she crept back towards the window, nearly falling backwards when a familiar consulting detective stuck his head out.

"There are 2 more on their way up now," he informed her, unceremoniously pulling her through the window. "If we take the elevator, we should miss them." He spoke quickly as he dashed out of the room and down the hall.

"Aren't elevators a little slow?" Laura questioned, jogging to keep up with Sherlock's long strides.

"Indeed they are," he nodded.

"Then… why are we taking it?"

Sherlock pressed the down button, shooting her a condescending look. "There are two staircases, one on either side of this hall. Your pursuers will have split up by now, one going up either of the stairs, expecting us to go down one of them for a quick getaway. They are unaware that we know they're here, they parked behind the hotel where you couldn't see them from your room. By the time they reach this floor we'll already be going down, understand?" He strolled into the now open elevator.

"Are you ever incorrect?" Laura frowned, following the man.

They traveled down to the first floor, Sherlock watching the shorter woman with what looked like disapproval. "No," he decided. Just after he spoke, the elevator let out a short ding, signaling they had reached the first floor. When the doors slid open, a large man in a black suit was waiting for them.

"However, there is the occasional mistake," he said, reaching out to grab the man's jacket. The man was thrown off guard as Sherlock pulled it over his head, blocking his vision. Sherlock snuck around him quickly, landing a strong kick to the man's back, which sent him toppling into the elevator. Laura, who had still been in the elevator, hit the button for the 4th floor before running after the fleeing detective. John was outside waiting for them, a taxi at the ready. When he spotted them he let out a sigh of relief.

"About time you showed up, I began to think we were too late."

Laura paused for a moment, giving herself some time to suck up her pride. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for saving me."

"Hey, I helped too," John piped in.

She gave him a short laugh, "Yes, thanks John, but Sherlock did prevent a man from shooting me."

The doctor shrugged in defeat and Sherlock simply stood there, observing Laura.

"That was genuine. No acting," Sherlock noted.

Laura sent him a grin, "Well you did save my life, I think that deserves a genuine thanks."

The consulting detective also noted that she was still shaken up by what happened, though he didn't mention it. "Do you have any friends in London?"

"None," she said, "Why?"

"You need a place to stay. You're too easy to track when you stay in a hotel," Sherlock explained.

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, "Where do you suggest I stay then?"

"With us!" John stepped in.

"What?" Sherlock was baffled.

"She can stay with us," John repeated.

Sherlock frowned, "I suppose that would be safest for her, but it highly inconveniences me."

"How?" John rolled his eyes.

"I'll have to stay at the flat and babysit her while you're at work."

"Take her with you! I'm sure she'll be a lot of help."

The consulting detective sent him a doubtful look. "Fine, she can stay with us, but only until we arrange other living conditions for her."

John beamed, "Good enough. So how about it, Laura?"

"Sounds good to me," she smiled, though she was surprised by the offer.

"Great! Let's head back to our flat then," John climbed into the cab, followed by Laura and Sherlock.

The ride was surprisingly silent, and a quick glance at Sherlock notified Laura that he was still upset about having to "babysit" her. She let out a deep sigh, "I hope this case is solved soon," she thought to herself.


	5. 5 - A Place to Stay

**I'm terrible at updating, I'm sorry guys! I'm just at a roadblock currently. I already have some stuff written for later chapters, it's just getting there that's difficult. So this chapter is shorter and, personally, I think it's pretty bad. I'll edit it some more later, I just figured you all deserved an update! Also, I might've mentioned this already… but I'm not British so I'm using American English. That being said, if I throw in a British term or two and use them wrong, feel free to correct me! **

Laura followed Sherlock and John up to their flat, earning a curious look from Mrs. Hudson who had poked her head out her door upon their arrival.

"Who is this? One of your girlfriends, John?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

John chuckled nervously, glancing at Laura to make sure she wasn't appalled by the remark. "No, she's a client. Her name is Laura Tantrise. Laura, this is our landlady, Mrs. Hudson."

Laura paused in her ascent up the stairs and smiled, "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Nice to meet you too dear," the woman smiled warmly. Then she looked around, a puzzled expression finding its way to her face. "Where'd Sherlock go?"

John turned to find the stairs empty, and the door to the flat slightly ajar. "He's having a hissy fit," he rolled his eyes. "He doesn't want Laura to stay with us."

"Why not? It could do him some good, having a woman's company. He's such a lonely fellow, he could use a girlfriend," Mrs. Hudson prattled on. "It's just not normal to get so excited over murders and such things."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, but Laura is very tired. Can we talk tomorrow?" John offered.

"Oh! I'm sorry dear! We can talk tomorrow. I'll bring you some tea in the morning, how about that?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you. It was nice meeting you," Laura smiled.

Mrs. Hudson gave them another friendly smile before disappearing into her flat. Once she was gone, Laura turned to John, a small grin on her face. He grinned back, trying to hold back a laugh. "Sorry about that, she's a sweet woman. She looks after us like she's our mother."

"It's fine! I just thought it was funny that she wanted me to date Sherlock. I'm fairly certain I irritate him, and he seems to be dating his work."

John let out a quick laugh, before clapping a hand over his mouth. "He's married to it, actually."

They both snickered as they continued up the stairs. When they entered the flat, Laura stopped snickering when she noted the consulting detective sitting in the room waiting for them, eyes trained on the door. After the initial shock of finding him staring at them, Laura took the time to take in the apartment. It was surprisingly normal, she noted. Well, besides the bullet holes in the wall, shaped like a smiley face.

"I quite like that," she pointed at the smiley face.

John snickered again, but composed himself when Sherlock sent him a stern look. "Well, would you look at the time," the doctor said awkwardly, trying to avoid staying up late to investigate with Sherlock. "I'm off to bed, goodnight Laura! Night Sherlock!" With that, he vanished up the stairs.

Laura watched him go, irritated that he left her alone with the consulting detective, but she kept her calm façade up nonetheless.

"You don't like me," Sherlock noted.

"What makes you think that?" Laura quirked a brow.

"When John left, the look you gave him suggested you wanted him to stay. You wouldn't want him to stay just for his company, so that means you wanted him to stay so you wouldn't be stuck with me. If you liked me, I don't think you'd be that upset to be left with me," Sherlock stated.

"You're kind of right I suppose. I wanted John to stay, but that's because you seem irritated with me and I don't want to deal with that," she shrugged. "It's not that I don't like you, you seem like a decent guy."

"So you don't like dealing with people that are upset with you. Or do you not like dealing with people that are upset in general?"

"What's with the questions?"

"I'm trying to figure you out," Sherlock said as if it were obvious.

Laura stared at him for a moment before responding. "Why?"

"You're skilled in hiding your thoughts and emotions behind a mask, and I want to crack it. It's intriguing. I feel like I've taken two cases," he smirked slightly.

The woman plopped down on the couch, "I'm so glad I've reached the tier of _case_. Is that one tier over _irritation_?".

"I wasn't irritated with you. I was irritated with John."

"Why?"

"He's infatuated with you. It's annoying. I need him focusing on the case, not on his… needs."

Laura snickered, "Poor guy, does he seriously like me?"

"Obviously."

"I figured," she sighed. "That doesn't happen often, but when it does it's because nobody realizes how much of a freak I am."

Sherlock sat up a bit straighter at the mention of the word, "freak". He'd been called that countless times and it didn't faze him, but this woman should take offense to such a word. However, she wasn't called a freak by others, but classified her own self as such. It was curious, normal people should detest the word.

"Can I go to sleep now? Or are you going to keep questioning me?" Laura leaned her head back into the couch, closing her eyes.

"There's a room right over there," he pointed, "We're getting up early, don't sleep in or I'll leave without you."

Laura nodded, getting up and heading to the room she'd been shown. "Night Sherlock," she called from the doorway.

He acknowledged her with a brief nod, not even looking up at the woman as he lost himself in his thoughts.

Laura rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her before she collapsed into the neat bed.


End file.
